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Development site for Bronx Banter Blog's upcoming look and feelThu, 08 Dec 2016 12:14:50 +0000en-UShourly1http://wordpress.org/?v=3.9.14Observations From Cooperstown: Remembering The Birdhttp://www.bronxbanterblog.com/2009/04/18/observations-from-cooperstown-remembering-the-bird/
http://www.bronxbanterblog.com/2009/04/18/observations-from-cooperstown-remembering-the-bird/#commentsSat, 18 Apr 2009 13:17:40 +0000http://www.bronxbanterblog.com/?p=17647Like much of the nation, I first experienced the wonder of Mark “The Bird” Fidrych on a Monday night in June of 1976. Prior to that game, I had seen only snippets of Fidrych’s antics on local sportscasts and read tidbits about him in the New York newspapers. Beyond that, I didn’t know much about the rookie right-hander. There was no ESPN or MLB Network around to provide continuous highlights or in-depth analysis about what this strange-looking character was doing during his whirlwind tour of American League cities.

On June 28, ABC chose to broadcast the Tigers-Yankees matchup as its featured game on “Monday Night Baseball.” With the old Tiger Stadium providing the backdrop, Fidrych put on a show like few fans had ever seen. He “manicured” the mound by combing over the dirt with his hands, fixing cleat marks along the way. When one of his infielders made a great defensive play behind him, Fidrych applauded loudly, congratulating his teammate. After recording the third out of each inning, Fidrych didn’t walk off the mound, but ran as if he were in the midst of a 40-yard dash, usually engaging in a full sprint before coming to a sudden halt at the Tigers’ dugout. There was also an element of superstition in his running. On the way back to the dugout, he jumped over the chalk baselines so as to avoid stepping on the lines. The way this big, gangly right-hander acted, it was little wonder that they called him The Bird.

And, oh by the way, Fidrych talked to the baseball. He felt that by conversing with the ball he could better control the pitch and make it move in the way that he wanted. Fidrych felt every baseball possessed a kind of karma. Once a batter reached safely with a hit, Fidrych asked the umpire to throw out the ball and give him another. He felt the old ball still had hits in it and needed to mix with other baseballs so that it would “right itself.”

Prior to Fidrych’s arrival on the major league scene in 1976, pitchers usually showed little emotion on the mound. They restrained themselves from exhibiting much body language, instead approaching the job of pitching in a businesslike manner. Clearly, Fidrych had a different way of doing things. And the country loved every minute of it.

As a Yankee fan, I didn’t like the fact that Fidrych beat my team, 5-1, that night in Detroit. Granted, the Yankees didn’t field a vintage lineup that night. Thurman Munson and Lou Piniella sat out the game, Jim Mason played shortstop, and Reggie Jackson had not yet arrived. But as a baseball fan, I could appreciate Fidrych as a developing sensation. Fidrych had talent, too. He threw a 93-mile-per-hour fastball with great sinking action. Intentionally or not, he pitched to the strength of his defense. In 1976, the Tigers had a decent defensive infield, but their outfield defense was somewhere between adventurous and atrocious, with Alex Johnson in left, Ron LeFlore in center, and Rusty Staub in right field. In retrospect, some critics of Fidrych (like Bill James) have pointed to his inability to collect strikeouts, but I can’t remember a single person mentioning that in 1976. No one cared. All Fidrych did was collect outs—and fans—while entertaining the hell out of the entire nation.

Fidrych went on to win the American League’s Rookie of the Year. Unfortunately, 1976 represented the pinnacle of his career. During spring training in 1977, Fidrych hurt his arm while shagging fly balls in the outfield. The injury, which turned out to be a rotator cuff tear, sidelined him for most of the next three seasons, never allowing him to return to his previous form. By the end of the 1980 season, he was out of a major league job. To the surprise of no one who knew him, Fidrych became a commercial trucker after his playing days and settled down to live on a 107-acre farm in Northborough.

It was on that farm that Fidrych was doing some work on Monday. A family friend came by his house, discovering his body under a dump truck, which Fidrych was trying to repair. Fidrych’s clothes had apparently become tangled in the truck’s spinning power shaft, strangling him, and claiming his life at the age of 54.

Mark Fidrych should have lived longer, just like he should have pitched longer. That’s the sad part of the story. But he managed to create more memories than any player who lasted a mere five seasons in the majors. And he lived more vibrantly than most of us could do given twice the time he had…

***

No one wants to hear about a player having to undergo season-ending surgery, especially within the first two weeks of Opening Day. That’s the scenario that Xavier Nady is facing, so soon after having won the right field job in the spring. But if there is a position where the Yankees can sustain such an injury, it is in the outfield. Nick Swisher, their hottest hitter, is fully capable of playing regularly, despite the recent nay saying of John Kruk, who claimed that Swisher is not an everyday player. (Ridiculous.) The Yankees also have a capable fourth outfielder in Melky Cabrera, whose defense and throwing make him an asset off the bunch.

The problem comes after Cabrera, because there is currently no one after Cabrera. Instead of adding a fifth outfielder, the Yankees added a 13th (13!) pitcher in the person of David Robertson. The Yankees will eventually need to make room for another outfielder, someone who is capable of pinch-hitting and providing occasional pop. Triple-A veterans John Rodriguez and Shelley Duncan are two options; another is prospect Austin Jackson, off to a good start with Scranton-Wilkes Barre. Jackson’s situation is problematic, however. If the Yankees cannot give “Ajax” regular at-bats, he would be better served playing every day at Scranton.

Historically, Brian Cashman has resisted making trades in reaction to major injuries. (See Derek Jeter in 2003 and Alex Rodriguez in 2009.) This is one occasion where Cashman should aggressively explore options outside of the organization. A glut of corner outfielders on the trade market could put the GM in a buyer’s mode. He can look to Washington, which desperately needs pitching and can offer Austin Kearns, Josh Willingham, or the recently demoted Lastings Milledge. (Willingham, with his past experience as a catcher, would be a great fit for the Yankees.) Cashman can talk to Milwaukee, which has the versatile Bill Hall, currently a starting third baseman but with experience in the outfield. The Rangers, with Andruw Jones and Marlon Byrd, are another possibility.

Over the long haul, a bench of Cabrera, Ramiro Pena or Cody Ransom, and Jose Molina will not cut it. At some point, whether it’s through trade or the system, a threatening bat will be needed.

]]>http://www.bronxbanterblog.com/2009/04/18/observations-from-cooperstown-remembering-the-bird/feed/9Card Corner–Joe Pepitonehttp://www.bronxbanterblog.com/2008/12/07/card-corner-joe-pepitone/
http://www.bronxbanterblog.com/2008/12/07/card-corner-joe-pepitone/#commentsSun, 07 Dec 2008 16:37:00 +0000http://www.bronxbanterblog.com/?p=5320 They don’t make ballplayers like Joe Pepitone anymore. I’ll leave that up to you, the reader, to decide whether that is something good or bad for our great game.

By the time that Topps issued this card as part of its 1968 set, Pepitone had established himself as arguably the most colorful character in the history of the Yankee franchise. That was certainly a tall task of grand proportions, given the precedence of former oddball Yankees like Frank “Ping” Bodie, Lefty Gomez, and manager Casey Stengel.

Considered a can’t miss-prospect who was fully capable of playing all three outfield positions and first base, Pepitone first reached the major leagues in 1962, joining a Yankees team that featured a conservative front office and a staid approach to playing the game. Pepitone’s flamboyance ran counter to the Yankee way. Incredibly vain, he arrived at spring training flashing a new Ford Thunderbird, bragging about his new boat, and wearing a new sharkskin suit. When the young star didn’t hustle during the regular season, he was greeted with angry catcalls from his veteran teammates, reminding him not to “mess with their money.” They were referring to their almost annual World Series shares, which they felt would become threatened if Pepitone’s lack of hustle continued.

Off the field, Pepitone’s love of the fast lane reflected the lifestyle preferences of established Yankees like Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford. Yet, there was something different about Pepitone’s way, which was less discreet, less subtle, and far more palpable. In perhaps his most blatant indiscretion, Pepitone occasionally didn’t show up for games, leading to speculation that he was being pursued by bookies for unpaid gambling debts.

Whether it was cavorting in nightclubs or prancing around the clubhouse, Pepitone provided an unsightly sideshow for Yankee teammates and the New York media. Oh, he won three Gold Gloves and put up some good power numbers—once hitting 31 homers and four other times exceeding 25 long balls in a season—but he never batted better than .271 in New York, rarely drew walks, and committed too many mental errors on the base paths. By the end of the 1960s, his inability to fulfill his immense potential had become a symbol of a once proud Yankee franchise that had lost its focus and gone astray, reduced to also-ran status in the American League.

Perhaps Pepitone’s legacy as a Yankee is best defined by his contributions to the game’s changing cultural landscape in the late 1960s. He became a baseball pioneer of sorts when he became the first man to bring a blow dryer into a major league clubhouse. Pepi’s trendsetting maneuver struck some as ironic, given that he consistently wore hairpieces over his balding pate. In fact, Pepitone used two pieces; he sported a larger wig for social settings and a smaller one—his “gamer”—that snugly fit under his cap and helmet at the ballpark. Both pieces, by the way, looked ghastly. Pepitone also sported long, thick sideburns during the latter stages of his career. Unlike his various wigs, the sideburns were real—but no less hideous.

On December 3, 1969, Pepitone took his sideburns and wigs elsewhere. Convinced that stardom would never happen for him, the Yankees decided to give him up in a straight-up exchange for Curt “Clank” Blefary, another character in his own right. The trade landed Pepitone in Houston, where he would play for the Astros. Somehow, the image of Pepitone wearing a ten-gallon hat didn’t seem quite right.

If there was ever an athlete who didn’t figure to assimilate into southern culture–or later, foreign culture–it was Pepitone. Unfortunately, he was the last one to come to that realization. After unsuccessful stints with the Astros, Cubs, and Braves, Pepitone took his act to the Japanese Leagues, where he cashed a far bigger paycheck—paying him $140,000—than he would have earned in the majors. Making like the proverbial lead balloon, Pepitone made no effort to conform to the expectations of athletes in the Far East. He wore his hair long, at shoulder length, rather than the shorter style expected of professional baseball players in Japan. He complained about the long hours of practice demanded from Japanese managers and coaches. He also grumbled about the high prices of food and clothing, further alienating himself from the Japanese public. After hours, he preferred to spend his spare time at the local discos, dancing and drinking for hours rather than mentally preparing for the next day’s game.

In a development that should have surprised no one, Pepitone lasted 14 games with the Yakult Atoms and batted only .163. He did manage to leave a legacy, though, in two different ways. Pepitone left behind a massive phone bill, which he never paid. He also influenced the creation of a new word in Japanese—a “pepitone.” Translated roughly into English, the slang word means “goof-off.” In either language, the word was quite fitting in describing the irresponsible ways of a player who once seemed destined for greatness.

Although his Japanese tenure lasted just a handful of games, Pepitone has not been forgotten in the Far East. The same can be said in western culture. Pepitone was referenced no fewer than three times on Seinfeld, arguably the greatest situation comedy in American history. Who can forget Kramer’s vivid tale of his adventures at Yankee fantasy camp, when he buzzed Pepitone for standing too close to the plate, triggering an all-out brawl?

Knowing Pepitone, that’s just the kind of thing that could have happened to him in real life.